


Thank You For Your Purchase

by 15Acesplz



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Arguing, Bisexual Grantaire, Body Worship, Christmas Presents, Confused Enjolras, Consent, Crying, Dancing, Demisexual Enjolras, Drinking, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras POV, First Time, Grantaire doesn't sleep enough, Grantaire is a Mess, Hand Jobs, Hospitals, M/M, New Year's Eve, Nonbinary Character, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow(ish?) Build, Valentine's Day, i'm so gay for consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/15Acesplz/pseuds/15Acesplz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras thought it fair to assume that he never would have noticed Grantaire if not for what he'd said. Then again, he was bound to have opened his mouth eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras thought it fair to assume that he never would have noticed Grantaire if not for what he'd said. Then again, he was bound to have opened his mouth eventually. As it was, the only reason Enjolras took notice and broke from the monotonous customer-cashier script was Grantaire's choice of words.

"Proof of age?"

"Yeah. Right here." Name, date of birth, matching grainy picture.

"€5."

"Thanks, blondie."

Enjolras' eyes snapped up from the money transaction to be met with a crooked grin. " _Blondie_?"

"Oh, sorry, is that too feminine for your taste? How about Antinous?" He gave Enjolras a deliberate once-over. "Sure fits the bill."

Enjolras glared his disapproval. "Femininity regardless, I do not appreciate being objectified," he practically growled.

"Ooh, feisty. Careful, a glare like that could singe. Maybe Apollo would be more suitable, considering you seem to be made of fire and light." His smirk was still in place, and it led Enjolras to fleetingly wonder both how someone could look so tired and mischievous at once and how mythology-based wisecracks were coming from the scruffy guy buying nothing but beer.

However impressive they might have been, Enjolras still didn't find said wisecracks very amusing. His scowl deepened and he ground his teeth, fighting the urge to tear the guy to pieces. He'd already been warned three times about holding up business and scaring away customers with his diatribes.

"Thank you for your purchase," He forced out through his clenched jaw. "Have a nice day."

"You too, Apollo. And you're welcome."

\- - - - -

"Proof of age?"

"I had it last time, didn't I?"

Enjolras looked up at the customer and sighed. "You again."

"I knew you wouldn't forget me, Apollo." He slid Enjolras his ID anyway.

"I have a name," Enjolras said testily. "Furthermore, I have a name tag."

"Do you treat all your customers like this, or am I just special?"

"Did you just _wink at me_?" Enjolras demanded, appalled.

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk. "No harm in a little wink."

Enjolras gave him a withering look. "That's €8."

"Thank you, my dear Apollo."

Enjolras stabbed a finger at his tag. "It's _Enjolras_."

He stared for a perplexing moment, a small, gentle smile on his face as he repeated the name. "I'm Grantaire."

\- - - - -

Grantaire turned up at the grocery store a few times a week, always to buy alcohol, and by the fifth time it happened Enjolras had to resign himself to the fact that Grantaire was choosing his register on purpose. He greeted Enjolras on each occasion with a roguish smile and a presumptuous comment, to which Enjolras just rolled his eyes and firmly told himself that no, it was not starting to become endearing.

Then, about a month after they'd first met, he didn't. There was no smile, and no comment but a "hey".

Enjolras scrutinized him, surprised by the lack of enthusiasm. He was more unkempt than ever, sporting an uneven stubble and dark purple circles under his bloodshot eyes. "Are you sure you need those?" he asked carefully, eyeing the four different bottles of liquor.

Grantaire pulled off a weak imitation of a glare, his gaze rather unfocused. "Yeah."

Enjolras sighed a little. "I'm sorry, Grantaire, I can't sell alcohol to someone visibly intoxicated."  

Grantaire gave him another less-than-formidable glare and took back his money, letting out a steady stream of curses under his breath.

As he started to stalk away it occurred to Enjolras that he was only going to go back out until he found somewhere that would sell to him. "Did you drive here?"

Grantaire sneered. "Don' worry, Apollo, 'm a big boy. I can drive."

Enjolras huffed in frustration. "No, you can't, that's dangerous. You – I, look, just wait here, there's a bench right there. I'm done at seven, I'll drive you home."

He half expected Grantaire to flip him off and keep walking. Instead, he stared at Enjolras for a long moment before changing his course and dropping into a drunken heap on the bench.

\- - - - -

Two hours later, Grantaire was a bit more sober. He offered up a halfhearted smile when Enjolras approached, but it quickly disappeared in favor of exhaustion. "Apollo," he greeted.

"Dionysus," Enjolras returned.

Grantaire made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh and stood up. "You know, most people just find my mythology bullshit annoying.”

"Well, I find it rather fascinating. Though a bit unexpected."

That time it was a genuine scoff, and Enjolras nearly kicked himself when Grantaire said, "Why, 'cause I'm such a lush?"

"You're not a lush," he protested unconvincingly.

Grantaire fixed him with a stare. "A spade is a spade, Apollo."

Enjolras didn't know how to respond to that, so he simply sighed. "My friend Prouvaire is going to take my car behind us, they’re already waiting in the parking lot."

\- - - - -

After Jean Prouvaire and Grantaire had been briefly introduced, and Grantaire located his keys with some struggle, and remembered his address with almost more struggle ("How the hell should I know the house number, it's just the blue one, Apollo!"), they set off.

Grantaire slouched low in his seat, leaning against the window. He was so quiet that Enjolras thought he might have fallen asleep, until he said quietly, "You didn't have to do this. Why should you care? I'm just another loser with a drinking problem."

"You're not a loser, Grantaire."

"I'm not, huh? Next you'll say I don't have a drinking problem - again." His tone was bitter and abrasive. "How would you know, anyway? You know two things about me, Apollo: I buy too much alcohol, and I like harassing cashiers." There was a pause, and his voice softened a bit. "I guess that's too general, though. Even beautiful, blond cashiers is too general. It's just you. I dunno why I act so stupid. I just like you a lot... Sorry, I'll shut up."

Enjolras could feel his spine stiffening. Nothing Grantaire had ever said to him sounded so genuine, and never before had he deigned to apologize for his comments, most of which honestly did skate the border between flirting and harassment. All he could think to say in response was, "Beautiful?"

Another rough laugh. "Oh, come on, Apollo, you really surprised? I'm not exactly subtle. I would have stuck with Antinous if Apollo weren't so much better."

"It's just... not the sort of word I would use to describe myself."

"Not really the best one, anyway..." Grantaire murmured, almost like he was talking to himself. "Can't think of the perfect one right now. Guess I'm still a little drunk." 

Neither of them said anything more until ten minutes later, when Enjolras turned onto Grantaire's street. "Okay, I know you told me it's number 170, but I'm still not sure I trust your memory, so look out for the 'blue one'."

It proved to be number 107, and Grantaire laughed lightly at the admonishing look Enjolras shot him. "At least I'll never forget it now," he said as Enjolras cut the ignition. "Thanks for the ride, anyway."

"Just don't do that again. Really, Grantaire, did you _need_ that much alcohol?" Enjolras regretted bringing it up almost at once, glancing over at Grantaire apprehensively.

He shrugged, staring at his scuffed shoes, and Enjolras could see the way his shoulders stayed hunched and tense. "I sure as hell thought so," he said, his defensive pose mirrored

in his voice. "Not my best moment. Not my worst, either, if we're being honest, but... I wasn't feeling too great." He made an attempt at a wry smile, but it came out more sad than anything. "You helped a little. When I was waiting for you I started thinking to myself, 'well, at least one person gives a fuck'."

There was a knock on the window that made them both jump. Enjolras turned to see Jean Prouvaire standing just outside the car, head tilted in question.

Enjolras cleared his throat and opened the door. "Right. Do you want help getting inside?"

Grantaire rolled his eyes, hopping out the passenger side. "I'm nearly sober, Apollo, I'll be fine. Besides, you don't want to see the inside of my nest. Considering the way you look at my hair and my car, you'd probably have an aneurysm if you saw what a disaster it is."

"I like your hair." The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. _What did he say that for?_ "Though your car is a bit of a wreck," he added a beat too late.

Grantaire's look of surprise turned to one of amusement. "Knew it. You would just love to get your hands on a portable vacuum and go to town on it, wouldn't you?"

Enjolras laughed, but it sounded strained even to his ears. 

"Well, see ya, Apollo." He walked up to the porch and lifted two fingers in a salute, giving Enjolras the half smile he so often sported. A moment later, his expression had changed completely to some brand of sudden comprehension and he lowered his hand, staring at Enjolras like he had the whole universe in his face. "Striking," he said, his voice barely more than a rough breath. "That's the perfect word I couldn't think of. Striking."

That one word gave Enjolras a lot to think about that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The whole 'starving artist' thing can get a little too literal, you know?"  
> "You paint houses?"  
> That clever smile. "I do now."

Two weeks after Enjolras drove Grantaire home, Grantaire showed up like usual, bought liquor like usual, flirted like usual, then asked a question. "Hey, you know that bulletin board by the doors? I can put shit on that, yeah?"

Enjolras glanced back at him curiously. "Um, within reason, I suppose. What did you have in mind?"

Grantaire pulled a slightly mangled paper from his sweatshirt pocket and unfolded it for Enjolras to see. 

It bore a sketched-on picture of a paint can and a wide, dripping brush, captioned with, ' _Call Grantaire, he paints houses!_ ' and with a row of tear away phone number strips lining the bottom.

"The whole 'starving artist' thing can get a little too literal, you know?"

"You paint houses?"

That clever smile. "I do now."

Enjolras gave his best unimpressed stare for that quip. "You're an artist, then?"

"Kinda. Mostly just means I dicked around in undergrad for six years and somehow pulled off an art degree." He shrugged and grinned ruefully.

"Well, I'm sure it'd be alright for you to tack that up."

"Thanks, Apollo. For the whiskey, too."

\- - - - -

Later, as Enjolras was going out, he saw Grantaire's flyer on the bulletin board, cluttered among lost pets and local performances and yard sales. He wasn't completely sure why, but he tore off one of the numbers and put it in his pocket.

\- - - - -

"Hey, guess what? Someone took one of the numbers on my flyer. Bet I'll be getting a call soon," Grantaire said brightly the next week.

"That's –” Enjolras faltered. "Just the one?"

Grantaire shrugged, wearing an easy smile. "Yeah, but that's one more job than I have now."

"Yeah..." Enjolras said distractedly. Now Grantaire would be disappointed, not to mention out a potential job... "Enjoy your wine."

"Thank you, my sunshine," he said, and after hearing the irritated noise Enjolras made in the back of his throat, "Oh, you don't like that one? Okay. Apollo it is, then."

\- - - - -

The phone rang six times, and Enjolras was on the verge of admitting defeat when Grantaire picked up. 

"Yeah?"

"Um – Is this Grantaire?"

There was a noticeable pause where Enjolras could hear Grantaire breathing. Finally he said, "Apollo?"

"I would say 'yes', but that would just encourage you to call me that."

Grantaire laughed lightly. "It is you. What'd you call for?"

"You paint houses."

"Why, Enjolras," Grantaire put on a shocked voice thinly veiling amusement, "does the radiant sun god lean down to ask a simple, crawling mortal to prove his worship?"

"I... I'm asking you to paint my walls," Enjolras said slowly, a little nonplussed.

"Tribute worthy of an exalted god it is, then. What color?"

"White, I suppose."

"Jesus, that's so boring. Okay, okay. Maybe by the time the white's done I'll convince you to let me paint a mural. When could I come over and see how much paint I need?"

"Saturday morning?"

"Sure. Noon."

"That isn't morning."

"Are you honestly going to make me get up earlier than eleven thirty?"

Enjolras sighed, contemplating whether he was going to regret this decision. "Fine, Saturday at noon." He told Grantaire his address. "And in case you forget, it's the brick one," he added drily. 

"Did the perfect marble statue just make a joke?"

"Possibly."

"At my expense, too," he tutted. "Well, I'll see you, Saturday at noon."

"Saturday at noon."

\- - - - -

Enjolras couldn't help but wonder what Grantaire was thinking as he walked around his apartment, inspecting every room.

It was a fairly nice, modest place, neat as a pin and almost completely utilitarian. Enjolras needed the sense of order to keep himself focused, and he appreciated that, but such a rigid way of living could get lonely.

"Let's see..." Grantaire mused, looking around the living room. "I'll probably need about six cans of paint for the whole place. I've already got the rollers and brushes and shit."

"I can pay for the paint," Enjolras said quickly.

"Cool. I was thinking ten euros an hour?"

Enjolras stared at him. "You're kidding, right? You're painting my entire apartment and you only want ten euros an hour?"

"It's just a bit of painting, Enjolras..."

"Fifteen," he said firmly.

"But –"

"And if you try and let me forget about the paint cost I'll find a way to slip the money in your pocket."

"Alright, alright." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Damn, you're persistent. I hope you know I would do it for free, for you."

"I hope you know I'd never allow that. When do you want to come paint?"

"Pretty much any time is good. Any time after ten, that is. If you've got an extra key I can work while you're not here. Stay out of your way."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to get in your way either." Enjolras gave him his spare key.

"Thanks, Apollo, really."

"Please. I should be thanking you."

"You don't have to." He smiled crookedly. "Even if I was doing this for free, I'd never ask anything of you."

\- - - - -

Enjolras came home to the sound of very loud classic rock pouring out of his bedroom. He dropped his things by the door and took off his shoes. "Grantaire?" he called. "Where are you?"

The music lowered a bit. "In the closet. Literally, not figuratively."

Enjolras shook his head and tried not to smile. "How's it going in there?"

"I'm almost done painting the ceiling."

"That's great."

"You bet it's great, I think my neck's about to snap. Tiny bitch ceiling."

Enjolras chuckled. "Well, have fun." He returned to the living room and dragged out his textbooks to get some coursework done. 

About half an hour later he heard Grantaire calling, "Enjolras! Hey, Enjolras!"

Enjolras set his book aside and looked up. "What?"

"Come here, this is an important moment."

Enjolras went back to the bedroom. "Why?"

"I'm coming out of the closet!"

Enjolras scoffed – okay, maybe he snorted – and watched as Grantaire came out of the closet, wearing a shit-eating grin.

"I'm very proud of you," Enjolras intoned.

Grantaire laughed loudly at that. "I'm going to do the bedroom now, if that's okay."

"Do you want help moving the furniture?"

"No, I can do it. You go back to whatever you’re doing."

"I'm just doing schoolwork, I have time to help. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"Okay, then... I guess we'll move the bed first."

They pushed the bed away from the wall and were making a start on the dresser when Grantaire asked in a would-be casual voice, "So, um... Got any closets of your own?"

He gave him a puzzled look. "What are you talking about, you know I have a closet. You just painted it."

"Oh, well, yeah, of course. I meant... Figuratively, not literally," Grantaire muttered to the dresser.

"How should we move this dresser?” Enjolras asked, perhaps a bit louder than usual. He could have sworn he saw Grantaire blushing.

"I was just asking. I just wondered... What are you?"

"What are you?" Enjolras shot back defensively.

"Bisexual," Grantaire answered immediately. "It's really not a big deal, you can tell me –"

"If it isn't a big deal then why does it matter?" he snapped.

Grantaire sighed. "Fine, whatever. I don't understand the big issue here..."

"I don't know, okay!" Enjolras exploded. His voice sounded harsh even to his ears, seeming to fill the room. "I don't know what I am, I don't see how it's any of your business!" He took his frustration out on the dresser and moved his side of it a good meter away from the wall. "There," he said coldly, stepping around Grantaire. "I think you can handle the rest on your own."

Back in the living room he threw himself into his work. He knew he was being unreasonable, that Grantaire had just been curious, but he was so angry and embarrassed and feeling a vulnerability that kept him from even looking at Grantaire when he left quietly a few hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I painted the ceiling of a very small closet once. It sucked.  
> A word on Enjolras's sexuality: he is currently questioning (more like unsure and slightly scared) and is eventually going to label himself as demi. It probably won't be revisited as a plot point ever again. (EDIT: jkjk it got revisited)  
> Also thank you for all the kudos and comments it makes me feel so special I love you all!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras wanted to forgive him, he really did. But the whole sexuality debacle still felt a little like an open wound, and he didn't know what to think of what Grantaire had said, and he had no clue how to forgive Grantaire without bringing up both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text messages are italicized, Grantaire's are also bold.

Enjolras woke up around three AM to his phone buzzing and two new messages from Grantaire.

**_Fckuc you zAngelras_ **

**_Just ZSOTP Zz witb yooir fumckng buetisufl face amndb all hard yo reads_ **

He squinted at the screen in confusion.

_What?_

_**I nbverr knbow what yoiiu want**_

**_The subn shbougn be sdo collfd_ **

_What are you talking about, Grantaire?_

**_Fiyre so cvold tyhat it burnsd all th same_ **

**_I stikl can5 hhelp but treach oiut an touchf it_ **

His sleepy brain finally started to work and comprehend the situation.

_Are you drunk?_

**_I llobve uou_ **

Enjolras stared at those badly formed words, his heart thudding. He couldn't possibly mean that. He was drunk, after all. A small part of his brain chimed _in vino veritas_ but he ignored it.

_Go to sleep._

**_Yoi canyt terl me wjat to ddo just brcase your prtetty_ **

Enjolras felt himself scowl. He set the phone down, hoping that if he didn't answer Grantaire would just stop.

**_NzZJOLRAS_ **

He gritted his teeth. This was past the point of cute and he was fed up with it.

_I'm going to bed. Keep texting me if you want to but I'm not going to answer._

He slammed the phone down with finality and turned away from it. It vibrated three more times, and Enjolras eventually fell asleep again. 

\- - - - -

Less than twelve hours later Grantaire showed up at the grocery store and tried to talk to Enjolras. 

"Hey."

Enjolras's gaze turned to ice. "Did you find everything you needed today?" he recited, ringing up the vodka.

"Look, Apollo, I'm really sorry –"

"Proof of age?"

Grantaire sighed sharply. "Will you at least listen to me? I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I was an inconsiderate nosy little shit and I'm sorry that I got smashed and drunk texted you. Basically, I'm sorry for being such an asshole." He let out a breath. "Here's my ID."

Enjolras stared at the cash register. "€12."

Grantaire handed the money over silently.

"Thank you for your purchase. Have a nice day," Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire left.

\- - - - -

Enjolras wanted to forgive him, he really did. But the whole sexuality debacle still felt a little like an open wound, and he didn't know what to think of what Grantaire had said, and he had no clue how to forgive Grantaire without bringing up both.

So, he didn't. They tiptoed around each other the entire time Grantaire was painting, barely speaking, the air between them so tense it could be sliced with a knife. Enjolras wasn't sure if he was meant to have noticed that Grantaire stopped going to his register, but he did notice and didn't say anything.

Before he knew it, Grantaire was done painting. 

He blinked when Grantaire said it. "What?"

"I'm going to be done this afternoon."

Enjolras heard himself say, "Great," but he didn't think he meant it. He was running out of time to fix things, and he still didn't know how. All he knew for sure was that he didn't want Grantaire to just leave and disappear from his life. So he said the first thing that popped into his mind. "Do you want to paint a mural on my wall?"

Grantaire's eyes widened. "Are... are you serious, Apollo?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Well, yes. I would pay you," he added quickly. "You're an artist, right? You do commissions."

"Yes..." he said slowly, still looking confused. 

"Paint me a mural."

"Okay, okay, wait a second..." He put a hand on his forehead. "Where is this coming from, I thought... I thought you hated me."

"Well, maybe… not... quite." Enjolras cleared his throat. "What happened before, that was... Don't worry about it. Water under the bridge."

"So I'm forgiven?"

"Um. Yes. I guess that's what I'm trying to say."

"Okay." Enjolras thought he saw a hint of a smile. "I'll paint you a mural."

\- - - - -

In all honesty, Grantaire was unreasonably excited about the soon-to-be mural. Every time he came to the grocery store he had a new idea, most of which were shot down by Enjolras. ("Oh, come on, Apollo, you'd look great as liberty leading the people –” "I'm not letting you paint a picture of me on my living room wall, Grantaire.") His enthusiasm was quite adorable, actually, although maybe that was just bred from Enjolras's hearty belief in going forth in life with motivation.

Because Grantaire was more motivated. Where before he'd seemed like he was only bothering to survive from one drink to the next, now he was bothering to survive for the chance to create something. He still looked tired, all the time, but then he talked about art, and his passion transcended the exhaustion. 

At last, the final design made itself known. Those were really the best words to describe what happened.

Enjolras's phone started ringing shortly after midnight. He looked at the caller ID and sighed, expecting more drunken ramblings. "Yes, Grantaire?"

" – so sorry if I woke you up, but I have it, I've got your mural, and there's no way you can find offense in it, because it's fucking perfect, Apollo. I was just painting, minding my own business, and suddenly it punches me in the face, that's really what it was like. You know how people talk about the first time they saw their soulmate or whatever? It was like that. I just stepped back and thought, 'Holy shit, that's the one'. I know it's late, sorry about that, but you have to see it, when will you be home tomorrow?"

 _Not drunk but still rambling_ , Enjolras thought wryly. "So, you know what you want to paint?"

"Yes, I already painted it, I just have to do it again."

"Okay, great. You can come over at four."

"You're not gonna believe how perfect it is, just wait til you see it, Apollo –”

Enjolras laughed softly. "Goodnight, Grantaire.

\- - - - -

Grantaire was chewing on one of his nails while Enjolras held the painting. "It's okay if you don't like it," he started nervously. "I know I said it was great last night, but it was kind of late and, I dunno, I looked at it again this morning, and it's not really –"

"Grantaire," Enjolras interrupted gently. "It's wonderful, alright? I would love for you to paint it on my wall." 

Grantaire smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess it'll be okay. I was only mostly sober when I did the painting, so there's a couple mistakes, but the mural will be a lot better, I promise!"

And with that declaration, the mural project was launched. Six times out of ten, Enjolras came home and Grantaire was there, yelling along to the radio while painting in broad strokes, or stepping back to scrutinize his work, or obsessing over the tiniest detail.

"It's not red enough..." he mumbled one time. "It's not red enough but this is as red-light-red as I can get it without it turning pink!" He rubbed his forehead, unknowingly smearing paint on his skin and the ends of his curls. 

Enjolras didn't quite know what to say in order to be helpful; art was a little outside his realm. "I'm... very sorry?"

"There has to be some way around it..." he ranted. "There's always a way around a wrong color, unless nothing's actually wrong..."

Enjolras thought about offering up the idea that nothing was actually wrong, but he knew it wouldn't even get through to Grantaire in the state he was in. He left him alone and went back to his book.

Five minutes later he was jerked out of his studies by the outburst, "Orange!"

"...What?" 

"If I can't add more red, it has to be the next best thing, and that's orange. Orange! Of course."

He proceeded to enthusiastically mix together a new color on his paint tray, laughing quietly to himself. After a minute he broke into the silence with a stream of expletives. "Oh my shit, holy mother of fuck, that is too much fucking orange!"

Enjolras fought the urge to laugh.

Weeks went on and the mural slowly took shape, turning from sketched lines on the wall to a swirl of colors, to actual identifiable forms. It was over a month before Grantaire declared it satisfactory, even then staring at it with critical eyes and looking as though he was itching to take a paintbrush and add just a dab of paint here and there.

He had painted a sea of clouds in a true Renaissance style with a fiery golden sun rising in the center and casting a brilliant red light on those surrounding clouds, the sky behind a colorful burst of gold and red.

"It looks great."

"Well, I sort of screwed up the shading on the left side, it isn't nearly as drastic as I'd hoped –"

Enjolras cut him off. "It's amazing, Grantaire, and it couldn't be any more amazing."

"I could debate that point," Grantaire muttered, fighting a smile. "But thank you."

"No, thank you. Let's see... You've been working for thirty-nine days and god know how many hours... five thousand euros," he decided.

Grantaire protested immediately. "Oh, Apollo, how could I possibly ask that of you –" 

"How could I possibly ask _you_ to paint me such a beautiful mural without suitable payment?" Enjolras countered. "You are getting five thousand euros." His tone left no room for argument.

"It could be a Christmas present," Grantaire tried to bargain, though he was already half-smiling in known defeat.

Part of Enjolras idly wondered if he and Grantaire were really closely acquainted enough to exchange Christmas presents. The other part of him didn't question it, simply making a mental note to think of something to get him for Christmas. "I don't think so, Grantaire, there's no way I could ever give you something worth that much."

Grantaire snorted and ducked his head, and Enjolras could have sworn he heard him murmur, "You already have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I converted the money right. Tell me if it's ridiculously erroneous.  
> I love all your comments every single one makes me want to scream a little out of sheer joy.  
> Over and out, until next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as the holiday special. Happy early winter holidays, y'all!

Evidently, Grantaire hadn't been joking about getting Enjolras a Christmas present, because two weeks before the 25th he received a suspicious phone call.

"You're a politics student, right?"

"Political science and history, yes. Why?"

"No reason." Enjolras could practically hear him smirking.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Don't worry Apollo, I mean no ill will. You'll find out soon enough," he sing-songed, then hung up.

As it turned out, Enjolras didn't find out until Christmas Day. Grantaire abruptly texted him at one in the afternoon, 

**_Hey r u home rn?_ **

_Yes, I've been home all morning._

**_Well I only just woke up :p_ **

_Of course you did._

**_Ok I’m coming over now_ **

Enjolras went and fetched the gift he'd wrapped for Grantaire. Presently Grantaire arrived, his own gift in hand. He grinned and shoved the package at Enjolras. "You can open yours first."

"No, I want you to see yours." He gestured to the box on the table.

"Wow, okay, that's a lot bigger than I was expecting." He ripped the package open and pulled out a portable vacuum. "Why, Apollo," he drawled teasingly, "I can see you have my best interest at heart."

Enjolras hadn't meant for Grantaire's gift to be a joke originally, but he had spent so much time thinking about what would be a suitable gift that he'd started overthinking it, and in the end all he could think of was something of a joke. "Well, I'm glad you like it."

"Open yours now!" he demanded.

"Okay, okay," Enjolras laughed. The gift proved to be a book. "'Politically Correct Bedtime Stories'?"

Grantaire was grinning widely. "Do you like it? I read the whole thing, and I thought it was hilarious. Some of the stuff reminded me of you, so,"

Enjolras frowned uncertainly and opened the book, glancing at some of the pages. "Grantaire, this..."

"It's great, right? I thought you would –"

"This is a shameless mockery of everything I believe in!" he exploded, snapping the book shut.

"Oh, come on, it's just a joke. It's supposed to be funny." 

"I don't find it very funny," Enjolras said stiffly.

"Jesus, lighten up –"

"You know, people always say that. But it's things like this," he stabbed a finger at the book, "that create negative opinions of important ideas such as equality, tolerance –"

After that, Grantaire sat silent while Enjolras ranted for a good twenty minutes. By the time he ran out of things to say his face was hot with fury, his breath was coming in frustrated huffs, and he had stood up, using his hands for vicious gesticulating while he made his verbal attack against Grantaire's weak, destructive ideas.

"...Well." Grantaire finally spoke. "Um. I have the gift receipt if you, uh, don't want it," he said quietly.

Enjolras massaged his forehead and sighed. "That's not necessary."

"Really, I won't mind if you take it back –"

"Grantaire, it's fine. Thank you for the gift and happy Christmas and now I'll think of you every time I see it."

Grantaire shrugged and smiled halfheartedly. "Happy Christmas, I guess."

"I'm sorry for losing my temper, in any case. Things like that just, uh, get to me."

"Oh, believe me, I know." His smile looked a bit closer to genuine, but in Grantaire's case that just grazed mischievous. "If you don't remember, the first thing you intentionally said to me was about gender nonconformity and objectification. And when all I did was tell you how pretty you are."

Enjolras cleared his throat awkwardly and Grantaire went slightly pink. "Yes, I remember." No matter how hard he tried to stop it, the thought surfaced in his head: _are, not were_.

"Anyway. I should probably get going."

"Happy Christmas," Enjolras repeated absently.

"And a happy New Year, too." Grantaire looked thoughtful. "We should hang out on New Year's. I'll text you." 

He smiled again and left, and Enjolras tried to ignore the inexplicable pounding of his heart.

\- - - - -

"Do it."

"No."

"Do it!"

"I don't want to, Grantaire."

"Why not?" Grantaire wheedled. "It's just a shot."

"I said I would drink, not do shots." Enjolras held up his beer. "I'm drinking."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "You're no fun." He knocked back his shot, the picked up the one intended for Enjolras. "One last chance before you go down in history as the most boring person I ever spent New Year's with." He waved the glass in Enjolras's face. It occurred to Enjolras that he was well on his way to drunk. "Trust me, this won't last long if you say no again."

"Let me think about that: um, no."

Grantaire drank the shot, set the glass down, and scrutinized Enjolras. "It's 'cause you're a lightweight," he said decisively.

Enjolras raised his eyebrow. "I'm taller than you are."

"Then why won't you do a shot?" His voice was drifting into singsong and he was leaning slightly forwards in his chair.

Enjolras gently pushed him away and sighed. "Fine. One shot."

"Yeah!" Grantaire yelled. He ordered them two more shots and raised one of the glasses to his lips, staring at Enjolras challengingly.

Enjolras met his gaze as he picked up the other glass and downed whatever was in it, somehow managing not to cough.

Grantaire smirked and clapped for him. "You have to get another beer, too." He informed him, draining his glass.

"Oh, I have to, do I?"

"Hell yes, you do, it's two-thousand-fucking-sixteen!"

That logic lasted Grantaire long enough to cajole Enjolras into having three more beers, and by eleven o'clock the world had gone slightly fuzzy.

"...and you know what I think is more important than anything in the world, and that's progress. Without progress there's uh..." Enjolras waved a hand in the air expressively. "There's no motion at all. Without progress we wither and, um, turn into animals."

Grantaire was gazing at him, his head cupped in his hands. "Y'know, I could listen to you talk about this meaningless shit all night."

Enjolras paused, taking a moment to process that. "Thanks."

Grantaire finished the rest of his drink – Enjolras wasn't quite sure what it was – and smiled. "We should dance."

Enjolras blinked and looked around the bar. "There isn't any music here."

"Let's go find some, then!" Grantaire pulled him up by the wrist and led him out of the bar to a different bar that was really more of a club. There was music, though, so Enjolras supposed it didn't really matter what it was.

Grantaire dragged him to the middle of the dance floor and started jumping up and down. Enjolras realized he didn't exactly know how to dance. He ended up waving his arms a bit and doing little else.

Grantaire looked over at him and snorted. "That's not how you dance!"

"It isn't?" Enjolras had to shout to be heard.

"No, you have to – here!" He took Enjolras's hands in his and made him jump with him. "This is how you dance!"

He let go of one of Enjolras's hands and put his up in the air. Enjolras copied him. He smiled, and then laughed. He must have really been dancing wrong for his whole life; it had never been so fun before.

They danced until they barely had any breath left, then found a place to sit down. Enjolras rubbed his head, suddenly bothered by all the noise and heat.

Grantaire nudged him with his shoulder, leaning close to his ear. "D'you wanna go outside?"

Enjolras nodded and let Grantaire navigate the way to the door.

The air outside was cold and crisp, but it felt refreshing. They sat on the curb. Enjolras suddenly registered the fact that they were still holding hands. That was okay, though, because Grantaire had nice hands. Grantaire had nice everything. He hummed a bit at that thought.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"You."

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Your hand."

"O-oh." He ripped his hand out of Enjolras's. Was he blushing? Maybe that was the cold. "Sorry."

"I liked it."

Grantaire snuck a sideways glance at him. "Really?"

Enjolras thought about it and decided that yes, he had liked holding Grantaire's hand. "Mm-hm."

Grantaire was dead silent, and Enjolras was just about to ask if he was okay when a burst of muffled noise all around them announced the arrival of 2016.

"Happy New Year," Enjolras murmured.

"Happy New Year."

Enjolras formulated an idea – more of a notion, really – and kissed Grantaire.      

"Ah – I – what was that for?" Grantaire spluttered, going pink.

"Tradition," Enjolras said solemnly. He blinked slowly and yawned. "Can we go home now?"

Grantaire absently touched his lips. "...Yeah. Sure, we can go home."

Enjolras slept on Grantaire's shoulder for most of the cab ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Politically Correct bedtime Stories is a real and wonderfully hilarious book, but I get the feeling Enjolras would hate it.  
> Until next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually, Enjolras was a strong supporter of change. But he didn't like anything about the change that had taken place between him and Grantaire

Enjolras woke up with a pounding headache. He groaned, staggered into the kitchen, drank two glasses of water, and texted Grantaire.

_What have you done to me._

**_Pffft_ **

**_Morning, sunshine_ **

_I didn't embarrass myself, did I?_

Grantaire didn't respond for a suspicious amount of time.

_Grantaire?_

**_No_ **

Well, that was just the most obvious lie of the century.

_What did I do, Grantaire?_

**_Nothing_ **

Enjolras sighed and massaged his forehead, trying to recall exactly what they had done.

_We danced, right?_

**_Yeah. U suck at dancing btw_ **

_Gee, thanks._

Suddenly a particular moment appeared to him in startling clarity.

_Did I kiss you?_

_Answer me, Grantaire._

**_Kinda_ **

**_Yeah_ **

Enjolras's face felt hot. It could be something other than embarrassment, theoretically. Like a fever.

_I'm sorry._

**_It doesn’t matter_ **

The stilted quality of their exchange was convincing Enjolras otherwise, but if Grantaire didn't want to talk about it there was no point in trying.

_Okay._

\- - - - -

"Hey, Apollo." Grantaire was smiling in an unnaturally bright way. His attempt at nonchalance was completely negated by how obvious the attempt was.

"Hello." Enjolras replied politely. "How have you been?"

"Good enough." He held out his ID. "You?"

"Alright." He looked at Grantaire and debated saying something.

"How much?"

Too late. "€9."

"Thanks."

Enjolras sighed. "Thank you for your purchase. Have a nice day."

\- - - - -

Usually, Enjolras was a strong supporter of change. But he didn't like anything about the change that had taken place between him and Grantaire.

For a while, he let it be, partly because he wasn't entirely certain what he could do about it. But the fake, distant way they had started acting around each other left such a bad taste in his mouth that eventually he just plunged head first into the awkwardness of it.

"We need to talk."

"What?"

Enjolras shifted the phone to his other ear. "You know what I'm talking about. I know you said everything was okay, but it's not, I can tell."

"Jesus, Apollo," Grantaire sighed. "What the hell do you expect me to say to that?"

"I don't know but say something, because not saying anything isn't really working out for us."

"I told you, it's not a big deal –”

"It isn’t? Then why have you been so different since?"

There was a silence before Grantaire said quietly, "That isn't fair, Enjolras. You can't make me tell you something you already know."

"I want to work this out," he said stubbornly.

"There's nothing you can do. I'll get over it, okay?" His voice was sharp and defensive.

"No, it isn't okay. I don't like this, Grantaire."

"Not everything is a problem you can fix out of sheer determination, Apollo," he snarled.

"Well, you seem to be convinced that nothing is worth trying to fix! Do you really not care or are you just afraid enough of messing up that you're not willing to try?" Enjolras knew he was losing his temper, regretting his words almost immediately.

"Fine, you asshole!” Enjolras just waited for him to continue, deciding that he didn’t care if he was making Grantaire mad. “You got drunk and kissed me, and it's been weird with us because it meant a hell of a lot more to me than it did to you. Are you happy?" he asked bitterly.

Enjolras ignored his last comment. "You're wrong about that not meaning anything to me, Grantaire. In all honesty, it meant a lot more to me than I even realized at the time... for obvious reasons." He braced himself and kept talking. If Grantaire was going to bear his soul it was only fair to meet him halfway. "I don’t exactly experience attraction the same way as other people. It’s hard to explain, but… It’s rare that anything like this happens to me and it’s confusing. I don't know how I feel about you just yet and I need some time to think. But in the meantime I don't want things to be so awkward."

"...Gimme a sec." Enjolras heard few unidentifiable thuds, a clink of glass, then Grantaire swallowing. "Okay. Let's be normal."

They talked for a while, about anything and everything, getting back into a comfortably rhythm fairly easily.

"Have you made any new year's resolutions?" Enjolras asked.

"Uh, yeah. To drink less wine."

"Oh, Grantaire, that's wonderful –"

" – And to drink more vodka."

Enjolras tisked. "You know, it wouldn't hurt you to drink less."

Grantaire scoffed. "Okay, we've definitely filled our deep emotional shit quota for the day, but I'll just say this, Apollo. You're a smart guy. You know what happens when someone like me stops drinking. And you might have the strength to deal with shit like that, but I don't."

"Grantaire –" Enjolras started to protest. 

"It's not the end of the world, Enjolras. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Enjolras sighed. "That's not much comfort."

"Uh, well, look, I should probably go. See you soon."

Enjolras almost pushed the issue, but he thought better of it. "See you soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious how much I hate this chapter? It's such filler bullshit, I just, ugh. I promise the next one will more than make up for it!  
> If anything about my interpretation of demisexuality is wrong please tell me! I'm trying my hardest!  
> Also Grantaire's alcoholism will come back to haunt us, I promise that snippet was not just random (also I like it when Grantaire makes smart ass jokes)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To his credit, Grantaire was remarkably patient while Enjolras sorted out his emotions.

To his credit, Grantaire was remarkably patient while Enjolras sorted out his emotions. He was still as friendly as usual – well, sans flirting, for which Enjolras was grateful. He didn't know if he could handle the plethora of half-lewd, half-sweet comments Grantaire thought up without fail.

This was just the same as every challenge Enjolras faced, he convinced himself. What he needed to solve problems was nothing but time and space to think, without distractions.

He didn't quite get the lack of distractions he was looking for.

"Hello?"

"...th' sun. Oh. Heyyy, 'pollo!"

Enjolras sighed. "Grantaire, where are you? Do you need a ride home?"

"I am home..."

"Oh." Enjolras rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock next to his bed. Half past midnight. "You shouldn't drink alone at home, it isn't emotionally healthy."

He heard a shuffle of dismissive motion. "Yeah, yeah... Have y'decided yet? What'll 't be? Have y'realized how, how horrible I am?"

Enjolras hesitated, unsure of what to say. In the end he hedged for time. "What?"

He heard Grantaire sigh wearily on the other end of the line. "Y'know, y'don' hafta think 'bout it an' all that. Y'could jus'... Wha'stha word...Reject me. I know 'm not muchta look at an... 'm kinda a dick."

Enjolras thought that over. Grantaire was kind of a dick, that much was true. And he wasn't strictly handsome, no; his nose was too big and his mouth too small to earn that label, and he always looked tired, ill, or drunk, and unkempt to boot. But he had so many good qualities that Enjolras couldn't ignore – the way he looked when his smile persevered through the fatigue, the thought and care he put into his artistic work, the way he tossed around allusions to the Classics like they were common knowledge, the interesting and thoughtful perspective he had of things that Enjolras had never thought to reconsider. He was generally a mess, but when Enjolras stepped back he saw that the mess was actually a whirlwind of something wonderful, wildly fresh and at the same time quietly brilliant.

And Grantaire was still on the other end of the line, waiting to be rejected. Enjolras started to speak, then closed his mouth, unsure that the best thing to do with this revelation would be to impulsively act on it. "You're not so horrible, Grantaire. Why don't you go to sleep, it's late."

Grantaire mumbled something in response of which Enjolras only puzzled out, "...too horrible t' sleep..."

Enjolras smiled faintly. "At least try and lie down. Good night, Grantaire."

\- - - - -

Enjolras didn't know what to do. Every time he went to bed thinking his answer would be 'yes' or 'no', he woke up again to 'I don't know'. Every day that he was still uncertain was another day that he left Grantaire hanging.

In the end he called Combeferre.

Combeferre was glad to hear from him. They were both so busy with grad school that it was hard to stay in contact as frequently as they would have liked. When Enjolras told him about the guy from the grocery store who was turning his world upside down, Combeferre gave the advice that any grad student working towards a PhD would give.

"Make a pros and cons chart and calculate the score."

Enjolras was at enough of a loss that he actually did it, and the results were astounding.

 

_Grantaire Pros:_

_I would get to spend more time with him +3_

_I would get to hold his hand +5_

_I would get to kiss him +10_

_I would get to do more than kiss him +6_

_Grantaire Cons:_

_I could mess everything up -5_

_He drinks a lot -2_

_He would drive me up the wall -3_

_Grantaire Score: 14_

_No Grantaire Pros:_

_No risk of messing everything up +2_

_No Grantaire Cons:_

_He might not want to be friends anymore -5_

_It could get awkward -7_

_He could hate me -10_

_I would never get to kiss him -6_

_No Grantaire Score: -26_

Enjolras squinted and checked his calculator one more time. _Negative twenty-six._ He groaned and put his head down on his desk. It was obvious what he should do, really. But for the first time, Enjolras was doubting his instincts (Not surprising, he thought, considering that his instinct of late had been to kiss Grantaire and never stop). When Combeferre's logic matched Enjolras's instincts, the ideas produced were the best ideas. It was worrying that this situation was so different. Usually Enjolras had as much conviction in himself as Combeferre could have in simple fact.

Maybe he was approaching this wrong. Maybe feelings weren't a logical problem.

He called on Jean Prouvaire next.

Jehan invited him over, sat him down, and gave him a mug of mulled cider that inexplicably had an orange slice in it. Enjolras watched the orange slice lazily spinning around in the cider while he talked. "You've met Grantaire. Remember?"

"Yes, I think I do. Dark hair, nice eyes, bad memory?"

Enjolras nodded. "Well, it's sort of complicated. But he painted my apartment and then we kind of had a fight, and he got drunk and said he loved me, and then he painted me a mural, and gave me a Christmas gift, then we spent New Year's together and I kissed him, then he was avoiding me, and I told him I needed time to think." He said all in one breath. "But I don't know what to think," he added rather desperately, looking up at Jehan.

Jehan blinked at him. "Wow. That's a lot to take in." They furrowed their eyebrows. "Um... Do you want to be in a relationship with him?"

"That's the problem, I don't know!"

Jehan gave him a dubious look. "I think you do know. Whether you should is a different story. What's holding you back?"

Enjolras sighed and put his head in his hands. "I don't want to make the wrong choice..."

"Enjolras," Prouvaire said gently. "The first thing you need to do is hurdle this fear of imperfection. Emotions are complicated and relationships are messy. It isn’t your fault if things don’t go perfectly. And I think that if you're this afraid of losing Grantaire then you must really want him."

"Politics are complicated and messy, too, but I understand them," Enjolras said, his voice muffled. "Why is this so much harder?"

"Because it's new. Just try it out, and don't worry about little mistakes."

Enjolras breathed out a sigh, trying to find a state of calmness. "Okay. I'll tell him." He took out his phone.

"Hey, hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Enjolras glanced up. "I was going to –"

"You can't give a love confession over text!" Jehan said indignantly.

Enjolras groaned. "I have to tell him in person?"

"Yes," they replied stoutly.

"But so many things could go wrong!"

"Look, if you're that nervous, plan what you're going to say." They stood up from their chair and pushed Enjolras out of his, nudging him toward the door. "Now go."

\- - - - -

_Are you home?_

**_Yeah_ **

_Can I come over?_

**_Sure why_ **

_I'll be there soon._

\- - - - -

When Enjolras knocked on Grantaire's door five minutes later, he heard a loud clatter and the exclamation, _"Shit!"._ He frowned uncertainly, and a few seconds later the door opened.

Grantaire smiled, breathing a bit heavily. "Hey. Uh, come in, I guess." He stepped aside, letting Enjolras in, and closed the door. "I tried to clean, but..." He trailed off sheepishly.

Enjolras scanned the room. He could tell that it had originally been intended to be a living room, but it appeared that Grantaire was quite literally living in it. A mattress had been shoved in the corner, hastily half-covered by a sheet, and a pile of laundry sat in the corner opposite. There was a questionable stain on the carpet, a small mountain of abandoned plates and bowls next to the pseudo-bed, and a garbage bag mostly containing cans and bottles spilling onto the floor in the middle of the room; Grantaire had presumably dropped it there when Enjolras arrived.

Grantaire seemed to notice the garbage bag at about the same time that Enjolras did and rushed forward to pick it up, slightly pink. "Anyway," he coughed. "You could, uh, sit down." He gestured towards the couch.

Enjolras sat where indicated, and Grantaire took the seat next to him. "Thank you."

"So... Why're you here?"

It only then occurred to Enjolras that Grantaire looked nervous. He was erratically tapping his fingers on the side of his leg, his eyes darting around the room and looking everywhere except at Enjolras. He was just as nervous as Enjolras was, if not more so. He still thought he was about to be rejected, disappointed. At the same moment that dawned on Enjolras, every word he had been rehearsing on the drive from Jehan's to Grantaire's flew from his brain. What came out of his mouth instead of his carefully planned speech was, "Can I kiss you?"

Grantaire stared at him like he had just said he was from outer space. "...What?"

Enjolras felt his face get hot. "I... I actually didn't mean to say that. But the sentiment holds." _Why was he stuttering?_ He never stuttered.

Grantaire kept gaping at him. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. So... This is your way of saying... you've decided?"

Enjolras nodded, staring at his hands. Were they clammy? He wiped his palms on his pants and glanced at Grantaire.

Grantaire was still staring at him, but with a distinctly different look on his face. "I – well, yes!"

Enjolras paused. "Yes what?"

Grantaire made a sound that could only be described as annoyed. "Oh my god, just –" He grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders and kissed him.

The first thing Enjolras thought was, _Finally_. The next thought he had was that Grantaire was really good at kissing. The rest of his mind was occupied frantically trying to figure out if he was doing anything wrong.

When they broke apart he smiled breathlessly. "I – I guess this is a thing now."

Grantaire ducked his head and laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

Enjolras took hold of Grantaire's hand. "Thank you for being so understanding."

Grantaire glanced at their joined hands as smiled. "And here I thought you were coming over to say that in an entirely different context," he murmured.

“Sorry I kept you waiting. I just needed time.”

"Honestly, Apollo, you could have taken a year and I would still be happy."

"Really?"

Grantaire squeezed his hand. "So, so happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what's next? That's right! *does jazz hands, throws confetti* RELATIONSHIP PROBLEMS!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of everything he felt, Enjolras knew he didn't regret his decision.  
> But that didn't mean that being Grantaire's boyfriend was easy.

Out of everything he felt, Enjolras knew he didn't regret his decision. He got the opportunity to see Grantaire every day, thus learning that Grantaire could be very clingy. He was always holding Enjolras's hand, pulling him closer, or – on occasions that they found themselves on a bed or couch – wrapping his limbs around Enjolras like an octopus.

They also spent quite a bit of time kissing, which was unbelievably nice. Grantaire had been in far more relationships than Enjolras and knew a lot of things that Enjolras didn't, and he didn't mind that he almost always had to take the lead. Kissing Grantaire was always a little nerve-wracking – at least for Enjolras – but even more exhilarating.

So, no, he didn't regret anything.

But that didn't mean that being Grantaire's boyfriend was easy.

Shortly after they started dating, Enjolras noticed that he never saw Grantaire at the grocery store anymore. He brushed it off until it became a pattern. There was just no way that many coincidences could happen. So he asked Grantaire about it, while they sat on Enjolras's couch watching TV.

"Did you stop going to my store?"

Grantaire fidgeted next to him. That was another thing he'd learned about Grantaire – he was incredibly fidgety.

"Um. I dunno. Does it matter?" He glanced sideways at Enjolras.

Enjolras shrugged. "I didn't think so. I just wondered..."

"Well, I – I guess the answer would be... Yeah. Kinda."

"Why?"

"I told you, it doesn't matter," Grantaire's voice became harsh and defensive. "Maybe I found a better store, or a closer store, okay?"

Enjolras frowned, concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Grantaire snapped.

"Okay, okay... You don't have to be so touchy –”

Grantaire made an irritated noise. "Jesus Christ, just drop it!"

Enjolras didn't say anything more, only casting him a worried glance.

It was only the next day that he connected the incident with Grantaire's drinking. Ever since they started dating, he'd become more secretive about drinking. The bottles in the fridge were stored in paper bags, the cans previously on the floor were tucked away into a garbage bag before Enjolras arrived, and the mints that Grantaire had taken to didn't always conceal the taste of alcohol on his breath.

The fact was that Enjolras worried about Grantaire. He just wasn't very good at articulating it, and usually ended up acting disapproving and judgmental. It only gave Grantaire more cause to lash out and more reason to hide his habits.

Every time Enjolras tisked or sighed, every time he looked pointedly at the drink in Grantaire's hand, or broke away from a kiss earlier than usual because they both knew Grantaire tasted like beer, every time he reacted Grantaire reacted back, getting snappy and surly, pushing his liquor out of sight in the back of the fridge, and increasing the tension between them.

It was only inevitable that they reached a breaking point. It just happened to be Valentine's Day.

Enjolras was waiting for Grantaire to come over so they could have dinner. He didn't cook much, but he'd done his best with spaghetti and salad. He could only hope that the gift he'd gotten made up for the pathetic attempt at a proper meal. Grantaire had mentioned something about the 'Ashcan school of art' with a sort of reverence, so Enjolras searched until he found two books on the topic with opposite viewpoints. Grantaire loved arguing, and he would probably appreciate the ideas he disagreed with even more than the ones he supported as he argued right along with the book. Then he would tell Enjolras about all sorts of concepts that went right over his head, and Enjolras would smile and kiss him, taking pleasure in Grantaire's enthusiasm.

All Enjolras's excitement for the night deflated when Grantaire showed up with a half-smile on his face and an unopened bottle of wine in his hand.

"Hey," Grantaire said brightly. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day," Enjolras responded stiffly. "Why did you bring that?"

Grantaire looked at the bottle. He'd tied a red ribbon around the neck, Enjolras noticed. "It's for you. Well, for us. I thought it'd be nice with dinner. Seeing as it's Valentine's Day and all." He glanced at Enjolras apprehensively. "What, do you not like it?"

"It's fine," Enjolras said curtly. He let Grantaire in, and as he was closing the door he couldn't stop himself from saying, "I don't see why we _need_ wine with dinner."

Grantaire sighed sharply. "Well, I don't see what the big fucking deal is. Wine is romantic."

"Wine is never romantic with you, Grantaire," Enjolras snarled.

Grantaire made a frustrated noise. "God, do you always have to be on my back? I just thought it would be a nice touch, okay?"

Enjolras let out a huff. "Really? Did you really just think it would be a nice touch? Can you honestly tell that that wine will be the first drink you've had today? Can you tell me that you won't end up drinking twice as much as I do?" By the time he finished he'd started to raise his voice.

"Christ, Apollo, are we really going to do this on fucking Valentine's Day?" Grantaire snapped. "It's none of your fucking business how much I drink!"

"It is my business; I have to deal with it!"

"Can you just calm down? It's not like I brought over a neck of tequila. We'll even drink out of wine glasses like civilized people. There's your Valentine's Day present," his tone turned sarcastic and bitter, "I'll be the boyfriend you wish you had."

Enjolras crossed his arms and huffed again. "Cut it out, Grantaire, I'd never ask you to stop being yourself," he said angrily.

"What about being alcoholic?" Grantaire shot back. "You sure seem to have a fucking problem with that. Maybe you'd rather date someone who isn't like that. Maybe you'd rather date someone who isn't a total fuckup!" He was shouting by then.

"If that's what you think of yourself, then yeah, maybe I would!"

Hurt flashed on Grantaire's face clearly enough for Enjolras to feel like a complete asshole. Then it disappeared and Grantaire glared. "Fine," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Have dinner with your imaginary boyfriend and the real life fuckup version will go and be a disappointment like usual." Then he turned around and walked to the bathroom, locking himself and the bottle of wine inside.

Enjolras silently cursed himself and tried to follow him. He jiggled the doorknob and then banged on the door. "Grantaire, stop this!" he shouted. "I didn't mean that, you made me walk right into it!"

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault now?" Grantaire shouted back.

"Dammit, Aire, can you just let it go? I wanted tonight to be nice!"

"Well, you sure fucked up any chance of that!" He heard the popping sound of Grantaire opening the bottle.

Enjolras's eyes started to sting and he sighed, at a loss. Didn't Grantaire see that he just wanted him to be healthy and safe? Didn't he know how much Enjolras worried for him? Enjolras dashed at his eyes, frustrated that he was crying. "Why are you being so –" His voice broke. "I'm sorry, okay? Can't we just forget this ever happened?" When Grantaire didn't respond, Enjolras sunk to the floor and put his head between his knees, giving in to the sobs bubbling in his chest.

Only a few seconds later he heard the lock click and the door open, and Grantaire saying, "Shit, Enjolras, I didn't mean to –" Then he was a warm presence next to Enjolras, pulling him into a hug. "I'm sorry; really sorry. Don't – I'm sorry."

Enjolras sniffled, attempting to wipe his eyes dry. "Only we could manage to ruin Valentine's Day," he mumbled.

Grantaire laughed humorlessly. "No kidding."

Enjolras leaned his head on Grantaire's shoulder. "The spaghetti's probably cold now."

"We can reheat it. Watch a movie?"

"Okay." Enjolras looked Grantaire in the eyes. "I love you. You know that, right? I only get so..." he made a vague motion with his hand, "...because I'm worried about you."

"Sorry for making you worry."

"It's fine."

"Even more sorry for making you cry."

"I wasn't – well, okay, I was, but it doesn't matter anyway."

"I love you too, for the record."

Enjolras smiled softly and kissed Grantaire, not caring about the cold spaghetti, or the words said and the tears shed, because when it came down to it that love would hold them together through all the bad parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early Valentine's, y'all  
> I would like to mention here that Marius is Enjolras's downstairs neighbor and his sensitive soul is rather jarred by his neighbor's tendency to regularly have shouting matches with his boyfriend  
> At least one more chapter, after that who knows


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you hungover?"
> 
> "No. Quite the opposite, actually."
> 
> "What does that mean?"
> 
> "I've been sober since last night."

Enjolras let himself into Grantaire's apartment with a call of "Hey, Aire" and made his way towards Grantaire's art studio (the bedroom he'd sacrificed in favor of a mattress in the living room and a place to paint). He found nothing inside but the usually disastrous hurricane of art supplies. Then he heard the sound of vomiting.

Enjolras wheeled around in alarm. The bathroom door was closed, but he pushed it open without hesitation, and discovered Grantaire groaning into the toilet bowl.

"Grantaire?"

Grantaire lifted his head and smiled weakly. "Hey, Apollo."

Enjolras scanned him over and found he rather recognized the quality of exhaustion in his expression and the bleariness in his eyes. "Are you hungover?" he asked flatly.

Grantaire gave a hollow laugh. "No. Quite the opposite, actually."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

Grantaire spit into the toilet, then stared him dead in the eye. "I've been sober since last night."

Enjolras did a double take. "Really?"

Grantaire scowled. "Yes, really. I am capable of it, you know," he snapped. Then he paused and sighed. "Sorry. I've been kind of pissy all day." He flushed the toilet, stood up, and made his way to the kitchen. Enjolras followed, training his eyes on Grantaire while he got a glass of water.

"God, Aire," he exclaimed. "You're shaking!"

Grantaire glanced at the glass, trembling along with his hands. "Guess I am," he murmured. "I'm fine, really."

"Are you having any other problems?" Enjolras demanded.

"Just a little headache, it's no big deal –"

"Grantaire, those are all withdrawal symptoms!" Enjolras interrupted. "And you know it, I know you're smarter than you make yourself out to be. If you're going to do this, you should do it in a hospital!"

"Hell, no, I am not going to the hospital. I'm fine, okay? If it gets bad, then by all means rush me to the ER, but it's fine right now. Let me do this my way!"

Enjolras made a frustrated noise and googled alcohol withdrawal. The results were horrifying. He did a quick prayer for his boyfriend's life. "We're going to the hospital."

\- - - - -

Grantaire complained the entire way to the hospital. He had a thousand excuses: He couldn't afford it, he hated hospitals, he didn't trust doctors, he didn't even feel that bad... Enjolras just let him grumble, more concerned with Grantaire's safety than his mood.

Once they arrived Grantaire sat slouching in front of the check-in window, sulking, while Enjolras explained the situation. Then the nurse asked for insurance information.

Grantaire stood up from the chair and spoke for the first time. "Let's go, Enjolras, I'll be fine."

Enjolras caught him by the sleeve. "Grantaire, we can't just leave. What's the big issue all of a sudden?"

Grantaire mumbled something unintelligible, and Enjolras sighed. "What?"

"I don't have insurance, okay?" Grantaire snapped, folding his arms.

Enjolras stared at him. "How... How do you not have health insurance?"

"I don’t technically have an income, and the private shit is expensive. I just try not to get hurt. And if I do I sure as hell don't go to the hospital," He said bitterly.

The nurse looked on in worry. "Um, it's okay if you don't have health insurance. The government covers part of it and we send a bill, so," She handed over a clipboard. "Just skip the insurance part."

Grantaire huffed in irritation, but consented to fill out the form. A few minutes later another nurse entered the waiting room and called Grantaire's name.

In the exam room the nurse - Nurse Joly, his tag said - took Grantaire's weight and height, checked his blood pressure and heartbeat, looked at his eyes, ears, and throat, and smiled encouragingly at him. "That's all! Dr. Valjean will be here in a moment."

Enjolras nodded and thanked him, and he left.

Then the doctor arrived and started to ask Grantaire questions. Over the course of the examination Grantaire swore at the Dr. Valjean about eight times and tried to leave twice. Once they finally finished, Dr. Valjean gave them some advice.

"Quitting cold turkey is not a safe option for you, Grantaire."

Grantaire was even more irritable at that point than he'd been earlier, and he laughed sharply. "What, so I'm doomed to drink forever until my liver gives out?"

Dr. Valjean gave him a patient – if slightly weary – smile. "No. How much do you drink in a day? Just make an estimate."

Grantaire mumbled his way through a rough approximation of an average day for him and came up with an uncertain, "Like fifteen? Or twenty, I dunno."

"Okay. Well, this is how it works: tomorrow limit yourself to twenty drinks. Then the next day, only have eighteen. After that cut down to sixteen."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Grantaire waved his hand. "Can we leave now?"

"Yes, I think you're good to go. Make sure you have something to drink when you get home."

Grantaire laughed again. "Look at that. A doctor just told me to drink."

"A doctor doesn't want you to have a seizure," Valjean replied briskly. "Now, I can fill out a prescription for you, to make this process easier."

"I'll be –"

"Actually, I think we would like that," Enjolras interjected.

"Enjolras," Grantaire hissed. "That's just going to cost more."

"I'm going to take care of this." Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire put his head in his hands and muttered a curse. "F-fine, we'll take a prescription. But I'm going to find some way to pay you back," he added threateningly, pointing at Enjolras.

"Yes, I know," Enjolras said placatingly. "Thank you for everything," he told Dr. Valjean.

Grantaire mumbled his own thanks as he took the prescription Valjean handed him. "Can we leave now?" he repeated. "For real?"

Enjolras sighed, but smiled all the same. "Yes, we're going."

\- - - - -

Under Enjolras's worried, watchful eye, Grantaire did exactly as Dr. Valjean had said, and was sober within two weeks. He loathed every minute of it, struggling almost constantly with either withdrawal symptoms or cravings and painting furiously in his free time to distract himself. Despite all his frustration and distress, he was determined to force his way through the ordeal. "For you," he kept repeating through the most difficult moments. "I'm doing this for you."

No matter why he was doing it, Enjolras was glad he was. Not even because of the nasty fights borne from the matter – god only knew they would manage to find something else to argue over – but because knowing that Grantaire wasn't steadily destroying his body would put so much of Enjolras's mind at ease.

A month later found Enjolras on Grantaire's doorstep, having been invited over the day before. He knocked on the door, only to hear a slightly alarming thud, a muffled curse, and a call of "Just a minute, Ange!"

Enjolras frowned, but waited patiently until Grantaire threw the door open. "Hi! Forgot you were coming." His tone was overly cheerful and his smile looked forced.

Enjolras furrowed his brow and observed Grantaire closely. There was something distinctly off about him, something beyond his hand fiddling with the hem of his shirt and his eyes avoiding Enjolras's. He was hiding something, Enjolras knew. He'd become masterful at detecting it, because Grantaire tended towards the secretive frequently. "Hi," he responded carefully. "Are you okay?"

Grantaire hesitated longer than seemed normal. "Um. Yeah, 'course. Why wouldn't I be?" He breathed out a barely audible laugh, and Enjolras suddenly understood what he was trying to hide and what he couldn't hide well enough: the stench of wine thick on his breath. His mouth hardened.

"Where is it?"

Grantaire blinked a few times, apprehension creeping into his expression. "Where... Uh, what?"

"The wine, Grantaire, where is the goddamn wine?" he hissed, gritting down on his back teeth.

Grantaire bit his lip, his eyes turning guilty and woebegone, and shuffled silently to one of the cluttered corners of his living room, returning with an open wine bottle in hand.

Enjolras snatched it away and strode to the kitchen, pouring what remained of the wine down the sink. It was only about a fifth of the original contents. "Christ, Aire," he said angrily, turning to find Grantaire hovering in the doorway with the same hangdog look on his face. "How much was that? Four, five drinks? And now you have to start over, you just got through the worst of it, what were you thinking –" He'd started pacing the small kitchen and now stopped in his tracks, overwhelmed with frustration. He huffed and put a hand on his forehead, still gritting his teeth.

Grantaire spoke suddenly, not much more than a mumble. "'m sorry."

Enjolras let out a long sigh. Just two words from Grantaire, and already his temper was cooling – though that wasn't quite the right turn of phrase. He felt as though all the emotion had been drained out of him, leaving nothing but exhaustion. "I know," he said quietly without lifting his head.

"'re you mad?" Grantaire's words, so ineloquent and contrite, made Enjolras want to cry out of despondency.

"No, Grantaire," he said wearily. "I'm just... upset."

Grantaire scoffed. "Disappointed," he muttered, contempt for himself obvious in his voice. "You mean disappointed."

Enjolras didn't say anything, unable to deny that. He sighed again. "It – it's fine, Aire. You can start over."

"Start over," Grantaire repeated, bitterness spiking his tone. "What for? 'm just gonna fuck up over an' over again... No real point in trying, is there? Might as well... Give up now."

There was no real conviction in his voice, just simple hopelessness. Enjolras easily reached where he was standing in one stride – the apartment really was tiny – and captured him in a tight hug.

"You're not going to give up," he said firmly. "And I'm certainly not going to give up on you."

Grantaire's shoulders slumped low like he had no strength left. "Dunno why you put up with me..." he mumbled into Enjolras's shirt.

"Because I want to." Enjolras's tone left no room for argument. "I love you, and I want you to be happy and healthy."

"Hm." Grantaire sounded unconvinced.

"I mean it, Aire." Enjolras paused for a thought. "Do you want to go to sleep? You seem tired."

"I dunno if I can."

"Try, at least? I know it's only nine and you haven't been sleeping well lately, but..."

Grantaire nodded. "Sure, I'll try."

Enjolras kissed him tenderly. "Good."

He turned the lights off while Grantaire stumbled into bed, clearly exhausted. Enjolras didn't know whether he should get his hopes up. The physical fatigue hadn't stopped Grantaire's mind from going at full force and keeping him awake for weeks, but if sobriety was causing the insomnia maybe the alcohol would grant him some rest. He deserved that much, at least.

Enjolras got into bed beside Grantaire and held him close. He still smelled of wine but Enjolras couldn't bring himself to care, not after that ordeal.

"I love you, Ange," Grantaire murmured. "I don't deserve you."

"I love you too," Enjolras returned quietly. And as he tightened his hold around Grantaire's torso, he set in his mind a resolve to do everything he could to prove to Grantaire that he did deserve him, and so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHH my god you have no idea how much research went into this OTL but I think it turned out pretty accurate. I've never seen a Grantaire fic where he tapers instead of quitting cold turkey but tbh it's a lot safer (less dramatic, oh well). The websites were like "seizures, brain damage, death" and I was like "noooope" (as was Enjolras)
> 
> Also I know that getting sober "for" someone else is not a healthy choice, but Grantaire happens to be rather unhealthy
> 
> I'm not sure if this is the end of the road. I made sure to wrap it up with enough closure that if I put this to rest forever then it doesn't physically pain readers but also with enough openness for the potential to continue if I get some crazy idea


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "W-wait, Enjolras, wait.”  
> Enjolras paused in lifting Grantaire's shirt. "What's wrong? Do you want to stop?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooooo I'm back! Trust me, I wasn't expecting it either. But it happened and now we have Sexy Chapter feat. "Let's grapple with Grantaire's lack of self-esteem". Also, I went back and fixed up the other chapters so they're no longer shit (the plot hasn't changed at all; mostly punctuation and wording), if anyone's interested in rereading from the beginning. Anyway, here's one last chapter! Enjoy!

Enjolras wasn’t sexually active. It shouldn’t have surprised anyone who knew him, considering that Grantaire was his first romantic partner and the idea of casual sex didn’t make much sense to him. Of course, he understood that most people had certain needs. His own body, while not too high maintenance, sometimes required attention. Nevertheless, in his opinion, that was not what sex was for. Simple release of energy could be achieved perfectly well singlehandedly (and the possible connotations of that term were not something he wished to dwell on). Sex was different. Enjolras saw it as a commitment; the profoundest of human connections; an intensely emotional, intimate process that just happened to involve an end goal of getting off.

That was exactly why Enjolras wanted to have sex with Grantaire. If he thought too hard about it, he got nervous, but for the most part he managed to convince himself that when they were both ready for it to happen, it would happen.

He recognized that they had reached that moment when it came. They were at Enjolras’s apartment about five months after they’d started dating, and conveniently, Grantaire had already planned to spend the night. It became clear that a little more than snuggling was likely to take place a few minutes into a bout of kissing on the couch. Enjolras felt arousal stirring in him and broke away to breathe close to Grantaire’s mouth, “Should we… bed?” He had hoped to ask with a bit more finesse, but it would have to do.

“I want to if you do,” Grantaire responded. “Do you really? I know you’ve never…”

“I do, Grantaire.”

“Then so do I.”

Kissing was more exciting still on a bed, perhaps because there was more room for movement; the idea held possibilities that Enjolras’s body responded to on thought. Grantaire certainly noticed, moaned into another deep kiss, and pressed close in a way that left Enjolras gasping. They were still both sitting up on their knees, but slowly and surely, Enjolras instinctively pushed Grantaire into a lying down position. The atmosphere felt hot and hazy as they kissed and sighed, and Enjolras decided it was high time for clothes to be shed.

"W-wait, Enjolras, wait.”

Enjolras paused in lifting Grantaire's shirt. "What's wrong? Do you want to stop?"

Grantaire shook his head vigorously. "No! Nooo. I just – I don't _have_ to take my shirt off, do I? I mean, think about it." He made some strange gesture. "Everything we need is down here, right?" Then he cringed. "God, that sounded horrible..."

 "Well..." Enjolras started slowly, confused. "I know you don't have to, but don't you want to? I'm going to take mine off, see?" He lifted his shirt over his head to prove it.

"That – it's different for you, I mean, you're like the chiseled statue of a god!" Grantaire exclaimed, waving a hand at Enjolras's exposed torso. "And me, I'm just... I'm all pasty and hairy and I have a beer gut and zits on my shoulders, and..." He trailed off, toying with the edge of his shirt. "Look, you may think you want to see my body, but you don't, trust me."

Enjolras stared at him for a long moment, while Grantaire stared at his socks, his knees pulled up. "Grantaire, I don't care what your body looks like!" he finally said, incredulous.

"So I can keep my shirt on?"

Enjolras paused and sighed. "You know, I don't think tonight is the night for this."

"What? No, no, that's not what I meant! I want to do this, Ange!" Grantaire said hastily.

"I know," Enjolras assured him. "I'm just not sure it's best for us right now."

Grantaire frowned, then asked, "If I took my shirt off would you be more sure?"

Enjolras sighed again. "It isn't about that, Grantaire. I don't care if I see your body or what it looks like, but I want you to be comfortable. This is important to me. It’s important to our relationship that we’re completely comfortable with each other."

He hummed in thought. "Then, what if you helped me be more comfortable?"

Enjolras thought it over. He really didn't want to push Grantaire into anything, even if it was just taking his shirt off. But he also really wanted to have sex with him, and he’d never pass up an opportunity to try and convince Grantaire of his worth. "That could work."

Grantaire turned Enjolras's chin and kissed him rather heatedly before letting go and taking hold of his shirt. He hesitated and glanced at Enjolras. "You know, it's okay if you see me and realize, 'Shit, he was right, he's gross and flabby'. You don't have to lie and say that I'm hot or anything, because I know I'm really not. Plenty of other people have told me, so... Passable would be good enough for me. But please don't lie."

He looked so vulnerable that Enjolras thought his heart might break. He kissed Grantaire firmly. "I won't lie to you," he promised.

Grantaire pulled his shirt over his head and occupied himself with examining the wall to Enjolras's left. He had been essentially right about what he looked like; his torso was soft and pale, the pudge of his stomach rolled ever so slightly over his jeans, and he did have a sizeable amount of chest hair. Enjolras broke the silence. "You know what I think?

Grantaire wore a self-deprecating smile. "Do your worst."

Enjolras gently kissed the tip of his crooked nose. “I think you’re beautiful.” He kissed his lips to keep him from protesting. “And I’m not lying.” His collarbone. “Because I love you.” His shoulder, dotted with the acne he was so embarrassed about. “Every bit of you, even imperfections.” His chest, and Enjolras ignored the odd sensation of matted hair against his lips. “Especially the imperfections.” His stomach, which elicited a barely audible whimper. Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand and continued, using the other to trace feather-light trails on down his torso while he talked. “If you didn’t have imperfections you wouldn’t be human and you wouldn’t be you, and I’m in love with you. No one else, just you exactly as you are. When I look at you right now I don’t just see a body. I see you, opening up and giving me more things to love about you, and I couldn’t be happier for it.” Grantaire shuddered. Looking up, Enjolras saw his eyes shining with tears.

“Sorry,” he croaked, pulling a watery smile. “Give me a minute.” He scrubbed at his eyes, sniffing hard, and looked back at Enjolras. “This is super sexy, I swear,” he insisted, laughing slightly. “It’s just… a lot. I’m not really used to…”

“Get used to it,” Enjolras murmured, smiling too. “Are you ready for this now?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Are you ready to believe me when I say you’re beautiful? I may say it several times.”

Grantaire laughed again. “After that speech how can I not believe you? Now kiss me, and do that amazing thing with your hand again.”

Enjolras did it, brushing the very tips of his fingers up and down as they kissed slowly, their movements syrupy as honey. He dipped his hand lower than before, then flicked his wrist back up. Another long kiss, and lower. His fingers skated below the hem of Grantaire’s jeans.

Grantaire groaned. “Okay, there are way too many pants involved in this situation,” he asserted. Enjolras couldn’t keep himself from laughing.

They each wrestled out of their own jeans (it wasn’t exactly without obstacle) and fell back on each other with more fervor. Grantaire, lying back down with Enjolras on top of him, rolled his hips once, and then again. The arousal low in Enjolras’s abdomen tightened like a rubber band, and he gasped against Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire’s hands found the waistband of his underwear.

“Can I?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Their only remaining articles of clothing were tossed aside, and Enjolras leaned back to take a breath and good long look at Grantaire. “Beautiful,” he said simply. Grantaire flushed, but he looked pleased and caught Enjolras by the waist, pulling him close.

“You are, too.” And after that, Enjolras barely had room to think, because sweet Jesus there was Grantaire’s hand, adept and responsive, drawing moan after moan out of him as Grantaire caught on quickly to exactly what he liked. There reached a point when Enjolras couldn’t manage to say anything except, “ _Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop_ ,” because everything was just so close to perfect that it was practically painful, and he opened his eyes to watch Grantaire, taking himself in his other hand with none of the care and consideration he was showing to Enjolras, and his face was strained and beautiful, and Enjolras told him so, and they came in near synchrony. 

“That was amazing,” Enjolras said, after he caught his breath. “Thank you.”

“Jesus, Ange,” Grantaire panted, flopping limblessly back on the bed. “I should be thanking you. It was the least I could do, after all those wonderful things you said. You’re too good to me.”

Enjolras lay down next to him, taking care to meet his eyes. “No, I’m not. That’s impossible, because you deserve the best.”

“Aw, come on, Ange, have mercy. I’ll cry again if you keep it up.”

“It’s true,” Enjolras insisted, though rather idly. He was a little too tired to make full effort.

“Look,” Grantaire’s voice, so joking before, turned soft and serious. “I know I’m always telling dumb jokes at my own expense, and honestly it’ll probably take me a long time to stop. But, uh, I’m not lying when I say I believe the stuff you’re telling me. I do. I believe it more every time. And, uh, well… thanks.”

Enjolras smiled. Grantaire hadn’t quite articulated everything that Enjolras knew he was thinking, but it was enough. It was enough to know that things were getting better with time, and that they had all the time in the world.


End file.
